


thunder in the head and the heart

by Pearidolia (AraceliL)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Drabble, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Sad, alcohol use, angsty, in america at least now that i think about it i don't know egypt's drinking age, lame, oh also implied sex, scene, things i never had to wonder until i started writing gay yugioh fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:17:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraceliL/pseuds/Pearidolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryou wakes up in a bed that's not his and a person he doesn't know by his side.<br/>It begins to rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunder in the head and the heart

It’s early morning rain when Ryou awakes.

A minute ticks by on his phone as he searches it desperately for answers, eyes pooling with tears as they’re assaulted with cold air from the vent next to him, sleep  cracking in the corners of his vision like glaze. The shitty quilt that pretends to be a comforter is almost thin enough to be a magazine blanket, which would arguably be more comfortable, Ryou thinks as he puts down his phone, noting dully that he’s at 12% and in a motel. If his sore jaw and just-throbbing head hadn’t already clued him in, the hollow clinks of the bottles on his bedside dresser are a dead giveaway, and then there’s a quiet snore and everything (well, some things) comes rushing back into Ryou’s memory and he freezes, body chilled over, heart ice cold.

His bedmate is almost touching him now, and he wants to seize up and curl away, because he has no one else in his memory last night except…

He left the desert with Yugi, he knows for a fact; but his heart was hot and leaving cigarette burns on his lungs, he tasted ash and in a desperation that he had never before called his own, he bid Yugi farewell and took up an offer he had suspected was mostly made just to be polite, but hey, he needed it and he wasn’t going to get turned away, and that means…

Sure enough, when he screws up the courage to finally see his bedmate, a tuft of hair the color of morning light greets him, skin the color of rich bronze -- 

The hair turns, rolls over onto his back, and Marik gives a breathy sigh, and Ryou goes from frozen to on fire so quickly his body just ends up sort of electrified.

He’s numb with confusion and the lingering taste of rum, mind hopelessly trying to sew together the rips in his memory, but past his third shot he can’t remember much, and his headache pulses offendedly at the very thought. Grimacing, he accepts his fate without much fight and settles back down to sleep, careful to avoid his -- friend? -- as though he’s a shark in a sea of sheets.

But his eyes don’t want to close, despite it being four in the morning, and aimlessly they find the sliver of sky ghosting through the slightly open curtains. The rain is gentle but fat, slow, languid drops curtaining the window and clouds and world with a dewy ambiance. It’s not light enough to be dawn yet, but the horizon is a cold grey that makes Ryou think of English mornings and tea with his mother, a memory so early he sometimes wonders if it’s real or not, but in the end, he doesn’t really care. The vent blasts on his face again but he likes the cold, tucking the blanket a little closer to his chin, burrowing a little deeper into the mattress (rather nice, all things considered). 

He loves these mornings. The world feels contained to his warmth and the sky in his window, private and intimate and cosy, and he feels himself sinking into sleep with each delicate footstep of rain outside, and he  _ won’t  _ have a hangover when he wakes up, not if he believes hard enough…

The blanket gives a firm pull and Ryou’s eyes fly open as Marik moves.

He’s still sleepy and cloudy, hands fumbling in the dark cotton of the sheets surrounding him, mumbling things in Arabic Ryou doesn’t understand. He’s not sure if Marik’s dreaming or awake, so he holds his breath in anticipation and leans closer to the other boy’s mouth, then there’s words in English, soft, whispered phrases that are mostly gibberish, leaving Ryou with the distinct memory of  _ Jabberwocky.  _ Satisfied that he won’t have to deal with the consequences of this until he wakes up, he settles back down into sleep’s warm and cosy arms.

He’s somehow moved closer to Marik than he realized. The rain has grown heavier and most insistent, and Ryou can just barely hear a roll of thunder in the distance. Its beautiful and powerful, but quickly upstaged by Marik’s gentle breathing in his ear, and he shivers from more than just the godforsaken vent.

He dozes in and out of sleep, floating on and just below the surface like the rain building puddles on the concrete outside his world. The storm continues its steady pace, but the growing thunder doesn’t frighten Ryou, striking a lullaby it seems only he can love, because the next stamp has Marik jolting up, hands clenched tightly on Ryou’s forearm and the bed.

Ryou’s instantly awake and iced to the core again, unsure what to do or say --

There’s another peal and then a high noise that sounds like a whine comes from Marik, and before Ryou knows what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around his friend’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest (realizing too late he slept without a shirt), praying Marik can’t hear how his heart is fighting to outdo the thunder outside --

Marik’s still a little drunk, he has to be, because when he does speak (more phrases in Arabic and a few words in English relating to the storm), his words are slurred and the unsteady pants in Ryou’s face smell sweet. His actions, normally brimming with the grace and steadiness of a man’s muscles fully realized, are erratic and twitchy, and the juxtaposition of the boy in Ryou’s arms and the man he only technically met yesterday is sparking something almost painful inside his stomach, raw and kindling, and it smolders within him brightly, ready to catch and light.

He’s not sure what he’s feeling, or how sober he is, or if this is okay, because he’s too distracted by the scent of Marik’s hair filling his nose, and the curling fingers on his chest with every clap of thunder. He whispers words half-remembered from his mother when he was a small child afraid of thunderstorms, with confidence and reassurance learned from her. When Marik shivers, Ryou dares to press a hand to the back of his neck, palm shaking, and gently runs his fingers through his hair, adding a soothing word with every stroke. 

He’s not too sure what happened between them last night, or how they ended up in bed together, but his hands are trembling and his heartbeat is a wild drum and there’s a stiff spot in his underwear that he can only plead to the gods is an old stain, though he’s not sure why because really he could do a hell of a lot worse than Marik --

Marik, who is still clinging to him like a drowning man. Marik, who killed his father, battled his demon, and came out on top. Marik, who smells like sunshine and oranges and the rum Ryou can taste in his mouth. Marik, who he only knows through memories half-lived, experiences seen through someone else’s cloudy eyes, impressions tainted by a different mind. Marik, whom he knows virtually nothing about, and yet everything about. Marik, whose body he feels against his in a surge of longing, of want so intense, so desperate, he’s not sure who it belongs to. Marik, who has raindrops of his own on his face.

That kindling feeling erupts into a wildfire, and without letting his thoughts slow him down, Ryou presses kisses to Marik’s face, quickly, shyly, even if he’s rumbling with uncertainty, even if his heart is breaking and he’s not sure why. He steals a kiss for every tear Marik cries, a touch that must be too gentle for someone like him. 

The thunder strums and the lightning spikes. Marik’s tears slowly falter, and without a word, he settles himself against Ryou, one arm wrapped around his chest and the other curled up against his own body. Ryou’s a little stunned, but Marik is warm and Marik is human, so he pulls him a little closer and lets his hands wander in hair remarkably soft for being so shapely. He feels Marik’s breathing even out, and once he’s sure he’s asleep, lets the soft flow take him under.

“Bakura,” Marik whispers once Ryou is asleep, an exhale, a compulsion, a heartbeat hidden under a roll of thunder, a secret for the emptiness and the rain and himself. 

Another tear threatens to fall, but he doesn’t let it.

Eventually, the storm dies down, and so does the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi thanks for reading! if you like it you should check out the other yugioh stuff i've written for this ship and also follow me on tumblr mostly because this ship doesn't get as much love as it should and I want to meet other people who also love it @slifer-the-executiveproducer  
> :D


End file.
